Chapter Text
“This season’s going to be fun,” Leia Organa’s voice promises through the phone speaker, “Bodhi’s back, Chirrut and Baze are back. It’s pretty much the same crew as last filming.”
Jyn Erso laughs into the phone perched between her shoulder and her ear, combing her fingers casually through her hair and over her shoulder, “I already told you, I’m in. The money’s too good to pass up even if I don’t quite agree with the premise.”
Leia groans, “Uh, you’re no fun! I know it’s not your usual cup of tea but it’s a hit show and we have no lack of people vying to be contestants.”
“Who’s the unlucky man? Or can’t I know that yet…” Jyn asks, skepticism infusing her voice.
“You can, just don’t tell anyone else. Obviously,” Leia lowers her voice, as if this is some kind of illicit exchange and not a friendly business call between old friends, “Cassian Andor.”
Jyn racks her brain but can recall no such reference to the man Leia is so serious about and so gives a dry reply, “I have no idea who that is.”
Leia’s response is disbelieving, “Mexican former telenovela star? He’s about to break out here in the states. Google him.”
Jyn still has no idea who this dude is and finds that she really doesn’t care all that much, “Whatever. It’s all the same to me. Same show, different faces, same farce.”
“You’re a love Grinch, you know?” Leia’s grumble is tinged with fondness, “Preproduction begins in a few weeks. I’ll email the details.”
“Thaaaanks! Bye, Babe,” Jyn ends the call and places her phone on her small dining room table next to her laptop.
Jyn had initially been roped into a production assistant gig for The Bachelor by her friend from college during a particularly dry spell from her normal PA work in the indie film industry. She completely and utterly disapproved (then and now) of the premise. A man chooses a wife in a mere few weeks from a pool of thirty overly made-up women who are all simultaneously competing for his attention? How could that inanely patriarchal (and honestly, chaotic) premise possibly be the answer to a healthy and lasting commitment? While she is skeptical of the whole thing, the money is very (VERY) good. The crew is great too and she had found on her initial season that she had enjoyed the backstage environment.
Her gray tabby, Tooka, curls around her laptop as his purrs grow louder. “Let’s see what the poor bloke looks like, shall we?” she scratches beneath her cat’s fuzzy chin as she addresses him.
Her feline companion merely flexes an outstretched paw in front of himself and turns to be more firmly on his back, fluffy underbelly open to the ceiling.
Jyn smiles at him as she brings up Google. She types in Cassian Andor and sips her blue earthenware mug, her tea now approaching lukewarm, as the page loads. She feels herself nodding, lips pursed, as she peruses the images banner that appears. Cassian Andor is objectively handsome. He seems tall and muscularly thin, like someone who works out but doesn’t overdo it; fit but unimposing. He has dark eyes that strangely appear both sharp and soft at the same time. His angular jawline is cut by high cheekbones. She gets the appeal (more so than the last guy featured on the show).
She finds herself reading a few articles about him through the translate feature and finds that he has had a successful career in popular Mexican television throughout his twenties. Now, as he nears thirty-five, he has filmed or is set to film three US market movies, one in a highly popular science fiction universe. She also notes that he has participated in many humanitarian efforts both in his home country and abroad. She finds herself mildly impressed although she suspects that this pleasant façade is, like anything else in the entertainment industry, just that; another fake persona.
No matter to her, she muses. She is not a contestant. Thank god.
………….
“Crap.” Leia Organa is at a loss as to what to do. She is this close to panicking. Leia Organa never panics.
“It’s alright. Just calm down. We’ll film with twenty- nine girls instead of thirty,” her co-producer Han Solo only mildly condescends as he shrugs beside her.
She glares sharp daggers at him, annoyed with his usual casualness about the gravity of the situation. The feeling is so familiar to her now, it’s like breathing; persistent, constant, painful breathing. “We publicly announced thirty contestants. We need thirty contestants. No more, no less,” she grits through her teeth, blood pressure rising.
It’s the day before filming begins and a quarter of the contestants have come down with the Norovirus at the hotel they’re currently occupying. Not only that, but a good portion of the alternate contestants have also been affected.
She'd spent her morning going around to rooms and telling these poor women that they would not be contestants on The Bachelor after all as the tight production schedule necessitated that they forge ahead before the women can recover. More than one woman cried that “this was her dream!” as she hugged the toilet and promptly threw up, mascara running an inky, smudged river down her cheeks. Leia feels peripherally bad but there’s no amount of makeup that can cover the ashen pallor and sunken, dark under eyes that inevitably accompany a bout of rampant food borne illness.
She had had nearly enough unaffected alternates on hand, save for one. She can feel the tension spreading across her forehead, a migraine on the horizon, when she realizes that Han has been uncharacteristically silent for a while; no pointed witty remarks or slighting jabs to fluster her into her normal state of irritation. When she looks up at him, his curious, head-cocked gaze lingers across the room. When she follows it, she sees Jyn Erso acting as a stand in so Bodhi Rook can properly light the shot for a contestant interview.
Jyn’s wearing jeans and a well-worn plaid button down, a black headset roughly set atop a messy braid. She’s laughing at something Bodhi has said and when he adjusts the light reflector a little to the right, her eyes glitter and her skin glows in the golden afternoon sunlight.
“Huh,” Leia says, an idea forming in her head.
“She could look-“ Han starts but Leia cuts him off.
“-good on camera. Really good.” Leia turns to look at Han and the grin spreading across his face tells her that he’s thinking the same thing. They’ve found Contestant Thirty.